


the consolation that will change your heart and mind

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Grantchester (TV), Happy Valley (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Accents, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Male Characters, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Law Enforcement, M/M, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsessive Behavior, Police, Psychological Torture, Sexism, Sibling AU, Smoking, Stalking, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-03-08 22:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: Sidney Chambers, Tommy Lee Royce's brother, comes to the Valley looking for his biological family. He gets much more than he bargained for.Thankfully, Geordie won't give up on him.title changed 11/02/2018





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Despite the tags on this fic, much of this story will be a romance starring Geordie and Sidney (true to their canon lol), and will feature some good ol' requited love with sexual tension sprinkled on top. Obviously be aware that I'm taking themes from Happy Valley, and that there will be violence, but just know that the *really* bad stuff that went down in that show won't be directly happening here. Updated fic title is taken from This Will Make You Love Again by IAMX._

Tommy Lee Royce lazed in a dented, scuffed van in the streets of Calder Valley. He was leaned forward over the steering wheel with an apparent lack of urgency, knees spread, feet planted wide as he slowly smoked his cigarette. The bottom few inches of his boots were caked in a lumpy layer of mud and clay, and the fluorescent vest that had been thrown into the backseat suggested he’d just come from work. He was unshaven and dirty, half his hair dyed peroxide blond, a pair of cold blue eyes watching from beneath unkempt curls. He was muscular, but he was big too. Big in the sort of way that couldn’t be earned in gyms and sports centres. Big in the sort of way that made other men afraid, made bar patrons shift uncomfortably when they sensed– without error– that he had done time.

Through the windscreen, he watched two men drinking coffee. One man was short and older, with greyed hair and a tanned, lively face, laughing at whatever his companion was saying. Tommy Lee Royce didn’t care for him. He was watching the other coffee-drinker. The one with a brilliant, angelic smile, laughter lines creasing the edges of his youthful eyes.

Tommy Lee Royce was watching his brother.

He felt a whiplash of something strange move through him, propelled like a pulse of fire, as he saw his own face on the body of a stranger. A tidy, clean, happy stranger. A fucking Vicar, of all things. A righteous, well-bred, respected type, raised on country values and middle-class manners.

Tommy Lee Royce knew how fucking fit he was, he knew what birds saw when they looked at him, knew how to get quality pussy. And he’d always been proud of that. Coming from nothing like he did, he was _satisfied_ of what he’d accomplished. But this stranger. This _twin_ of his, coming to the Valley, mucking around on his turf, looking for his long-lost relatives; Tommy wasn’t having that.

No fucking way.

He blew out a cloud of smoke, filling the car with the hazy texture of grey. That feeling that was overcoming him, he’d have liked to call it anger. But it wasn’t just that. It was something else. Something _more._ Because that was his brother, that was his flesh and blood– that _man_ was the same babe that had wailed and crawled and shit next to him when he was still in nappies. When he was still just a kid. Just a kid with an abusive, druggie, whore of a mother.

“But you got out,” he murmured steadily, lips forming the words in a bored, detached way, “you got out, didn’ yeh.”

He rolled the cigarette between two fingers and a thumb, the thin paper soft against the roughened callouses. Smoke leaked out from between his lips, and he gave a quiet cough. Outside, Sidney Chambers laughed, carefree as ever. The sun warmed him where he sat, made his tawny waves shine brightly as they moved about his forehead.

It was cold in the van. Tommy let the feeling seep into his skin, below his jacket, because he knew that there was strength to be found in discomfort. Fuck being comfortable. Fuck being well-adjusted and _nice._ He’d done his time. He’d grown up an unwanted, unloved bastard boy, kicked around and molested by father figures with greasy fat fingers before he could even read properly. He’d survived prison and flourished among the skinheads, the dealers, the hitmen, and the pimps. None of them had shit on him, and there had never been a single day of his life in which he had been relaxed. He was ready to kill. He was ready for anything. He was a finely-tuned instrument with a knife stashed in the back of his jeans. Its leather sheath pressed against him when he moved, his heartbeat accelerating in the silence, a slow inhalation the only indication of the vicious, eager excitement that had begun to possess him.

It was high time that Sidney Chambers stopped being comfortable.

Tommy returned the cigarette to his mouth, held it between his lips as he started the van.

 

***

 

"Look at this place. You gotta be kiddin' me."

"I'm not!" Sidney laughed. "I'm not, Geordie, I promise."

Geordie shook his head, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms. He was dressed in a brown overcoat, his shirt rumpled, his hair thinning and grey. He looked out across the street, giving a disappointed sigh.

"I dunno what y'can expect, lad, if yer family's somewhere in this shithole."

"Come on," Sidney replied with an easy smile, used to his friend's banter, "That's not very supportive."

Geordie shrugged happily, a cheeky glint in his eye. Sidney returned his attention to his coffee, folding one large hand around the mug's ceramic curve. Geordie sighed, taking his up his fork again and dipping it into the gently rippled surface of his chocolate tart.

"Silly sod," he muttered, "takin' me on this damn adventure. Hope y'find what yer lookin' for."

Sidney chuckled. The gruffness of his friend's tone didn't do much to mask his affection, and Sidney appreciated it. He appreciated all of this. Finding out that he was adopted had been a shock, to say the least, and he wasn't sure how well he'd have handled it without Geordie.

They coughed when a van passed by, accompanied by the squeal of mechanics and the splutter of dirty exhaust.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Catherine Cawood was on her forth cup of coffee this morning.

The amount of caffeine she drank on a daily basis– aside from being an affront to her love of tea as a good, respectable, working-class Englishwoman– was seriously unhealthy. Still, she was a copper, and there were certain concessions that needed to be made for people like her. People who mopped up the shit and dredges of society, picking up junkies left right and fucking centre because corruption ran through the Valley far better than blood through a seasoned addict’s arteries. And she was _stressed,_ lately. Tommy Lee Royce watched her from the bulletin board, the words RECENT RELEASE: DRUG OFFENCES printed in bold, cruel ink, as if she needed to be reminded that the bastard had gotten away with far more than he’d been charged with. He was out, again. Had been for three months. And she hadn’t located him yet, which meant her obsession with getting her hands around his neck and squeezing until something _snapped_ was unfulfilled.

Still, she had to raise dear Ryan. Ironic or not, that child meant her need for revenge would likely go unsatisfied for a very long time. She just couldn’t go to prison.

Especially considering how many of her fellow inmates she’d have put away.

“Serge?”

Catherine looked up to see Kirsten McAskill, shy and timid as ever, walking into her office carrying a folder. God almighty, Catherine had never met anybody less qualified to be an on-the-beat copper. Still, the girl was alright, and she’d toughen up with time.

“Kirsten.” Catherine peered over the rim of her glasses. “What’s up?”

“I’ve, um. Got somethin’ big t’ show yeh, ma’am.” Kirsten fidgeted, glancing behind her like she wanted to close the door. “Somethin’ that might be hard t’ hear. Well, y’know, not sure whether it’ll be _hard_ exactly, but I know there’s history n’ all that, so-”

“Out with it, love,” Catherine encouraged her patiently, “whatever it is.”

She was more gentle with Kirsten than she was with any of her other coppers. She needed to watch that, she knew, but Becky had been soft and kind once too, and Catherine saw a lot of her dead daughter in this woman. Making a conscious effort to resist her own partiality, she straightened up and adopted a more businesslike posture, using body language to hurry the conversation. Kirsten nodded, her young face tense with stress.

“Few months ago, yeh told us t’ keep an eye out for… for Tommy Lee Royce. See, the thing is, ma’am… I thought I’d found him. Few days ago. But I approached the gentleman in question, and, well.” Kirsten swallowed nervously, and then strode across the room, placing the folder down on Catherine’s desk. “Might wanna take a look at what I found when I did some diggin’.”

Throughout Kirtsen’s stuttered explanation, Catherine had gone still, an icy sensation creeping through her and settling deep in every limb of her body. Just hearing his name disgusted her, enraged her, frightened her, and frustrated her. She moved through it, though, because she was used to all those feelings.

Far too used to them.

She picked up the folder. Opened it.

Two identification sheets looked back at her. At first, she thought they were both Tommy Lee Royce; the one on the left certainly was. But then her gaze moved onto the next sheet, and her eyes fixed on the name. Sidney Chambers. His smile was brighter, his hair was undyed and brown, and he appeared to have a much healthier complexion– but they had the same face, no doubt about it. Catherine stared without really processing, unable to compute what she was seeing.

“…What is this?”

“It seems, ma’am, that Sidney Royce was adopted out to a Mr and Mrs Chambers when he was just a tot. He’s a Vicar in Grantchester. Small village in Cambridgeshire. From what I could tell, he’s clean too. No outstanding warrants, no previous arrests, no offences, no spouse… devout member of the Anglican church.”

Catherine blinked hard, a frown set deep into her forehead. “You’re tellin' me that Tommy Lee Royce has a brother.”

“I… I am, yes.”

“And you’re sure.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The words sounded hesitant, but that was only due to Kirtsen’s inborn reluctance to assert authority. She repeated the sentiment, this time lifting her chin and deliberately emphasizing her certainty; “Yes, I’m sure.”

Catherine couldn’t take her eyes off the man in the picture. She wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn’t just some false identity that Tommy Lee Royce had crafted in order to fool the authorities. She wouldn’t have bloody put it past him.

“Well. What's this man doin' in the Valley?”

“Parents recently passed away. Could be that the truth ‘bout his adoption came out on their deathbeds. My guess is, he’s here to reconnect with family. I put in all the details, ‘bout where I saw him last, where I think he’s stayin’. It's all in there, if yer keen on lookin' him up.”

Catherine nodded. She closed the folder. If Sidney Chambers was a real person, there was no way she was letting him be infected by the very unique violence his brother loved to exhibit. But she doubted he was real. And, if he was nothing more than a false identity, then Catherine would have her chance to nab Tommy Lee Royce for identity theft or fraud, and an excuse to put him away for just a little while longer. At least he couldn’t hurt anybody innocent in prison.

“Can I keep this?”

“I- Yes, of course,” Kirsten replied, nervousness filling her voice, “are yeh angry?”

Catherine stood, gathering up her things and getting prepared to leave. “Oh, for god’s sake- have some backbone, McAskill.”

Kirsten paused, initially shocked by Catherine’s words. Then she grinned widely, catching the undercurrent of affection and approval that Catherine– who was feared and admired in their station with equal measure– would never express at face value. She left without saying anything more, which Catherine appreciated. It was only when Kirsten was out of the room that Catherine allowed herself a small smile. The girl was far more tactful and clever than she let herself believe.

Her smile immediately faded when she thought about what awaited her. If this was a case of identity fraud, then it wasn't unreasonable to imagine that she'd soon be face-to-face with Tommy for the first time in many, many years. She was almost worried about what she'd do when she found him. Not because she didn't think she could handle him.

Just because she wasn't keen to get done for first-degree murder any time soon.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

To Geordie’s undisguised glee, he and Sidney found a decent pub to have a couple of drinks in the next day. It was an old-fashioned place, dimly lit and unimpressive in terms of decor. Almost every surface was grainy, sticky wood, polish having been worn off by years upon years of regular patrons. Most of the customers present were blokes, and many of them were middle-aged or older, with the exception of one table. A group of six young men hunched over their beers, all sporting buzzcuts, short crewcuts, and crude dye jobs. They looked up with suspicious glares when Geordie and Sidney walked in.

“Not sure we’re that welcome,” Sidney remarked with no small amount of amusement, trying to suppress a smile as they took a seat.

“Aw,” Geordie took off his coat, “scared, Sidney?”

“Not in the slightest, thank you very much.”

“I can hold yer hand if you want, lad, but I doubt that’ll improve their mood.”

Sidney raised an eyebrow, grinning now. “I imagine you’re right, sadly.”

“Mm. They look like skins.”

Sidney glanced at them again, nonchalant and unconcerned. In his opinion they didn’t look cruel enough to be skinheads, and he certainly didn’t find them threatening. It was more likely they were just small town boys with small town beliefs. They could grow into something worse, but their presence was hardly a cause for worry. He turned his gaze back to Geordie, and found himself smiling again as he watched the older man raise a hand, calling out to the bartender and ordering their customary pints of beer. The rise and fall of Geordie’s gravelly voice washed over him like a spell, and the comfort he found in his friend’s presence couldn’t compare to anything else. Geordie might have been a right bastard, but he was honest. And Sidney appreciated that. Being a Vicar had, if nothing else, driven him to detest the near-constant deceit that ran rampant throughout all facets of human life.

Really, it was just nice to be treated like a human being. Not as a confessional.

There was something else too. Another feeling that lingered behind Sidney’s affection. A feeling that he didn’t dare admit aloud, especially not to Geordie himself. A feeling that simmered and grew at the sight of Geordie's rolled-up sleeves and thick forearms, suspenders fitting snugly over the shape of his chest, shirt tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Geordie wasn’t young, but he was handsome; in fact, Sidney was quite sure that Geordie's age was, in itself, a large part of his charm. He was a protector. A steadfast, wilful, _strong_ man, who had suffered divorce and loss, and emerged with a weathered kind of hardness. His strength was matched only in kind by his weakness, and Sidney treasured those rare moments of emotional intimacy when Geordie's walls came down. He wanted to touch something deep inside Geordie. Wanted to heal him, and be healed in return.

Sidney looked away, clenching his teeth briefly, sighing hard through his nose. These thoughts were becoming more and more frequent. He had to keep this to himself.

As he glanced off to the side, the door to the pub opened. A policewoman entered. She had blazing, steady eyes, chin held high, shoulders strong beneath the bulk of her uniform. Her gaze immediately fixed on Sidney, and he raised his eyebrows, thinking it must be a mistake. But she walked directly towards him, strides determined and calm.

“Oh, ‘ello.” Geordie muttered. “What’s this?”

“No idea,” Sidney replied quietly.

She approached their table, one thumb hooked into the loop of her belt. Her eyes did not leave Sidney. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t bring himself to, so he frowned in genuine confusion. The whole pub was watching them, and had fallen silent. The bartender had been about to bring their beers over, but was now hovering behind the bar, watching with no small amount of discomfort. The youths in the corner looked especially uneasy, but Sidney had already discerned that drug use was a pretty big issue in this town, so he wasn’t surprised by their reaction.

“Mornin’, fellas.” The policewoman said shortly, her words clipped and hard. “Sergeant Catherine Cawood. I’d like to see your IDs, please.”

“Why’s that?” Geordie demanded.

“Because I’m askin’,” she replied, words leaving no room for argument. Her presence was so overwhelmingly commanding that even Geordie moved to do as she said. Sidney, uncomfortable and altogether anxious at this turn of events, reached into his pocket to produce his ID as well. This was the second time they’d been approached by police while in town.

“Some damn hospitality you’ve got in this bloody place, Sergeant.” Geordie grumbled. He held up his police badge triumphantly, with the kind of shit-eating grin that Sidney would have been massively amused by in other circumstances. “There. _Detective Inspector_ Keating. That sound like I’m a criminal? Eh?”

The policewoman didn’t appear to give a damn, or be at all perturbed by his attitude. Almost all of her attention was still, worryingly, focussed on Sidney. He handed her his ID.

She stared at it for a long while.

“Is something the matter?” Sidney asked, sincerely concerned. He couldn’t read the emotions in her face. She almost seemed upset, though he couldn’t imagine why that would be the case. After a while, she handed him back his ID, nodding silently at whatever conclusion she’d just drawn.

“Mind tellin’ me what yer doin’ in the Valley?”

“What business is that of yours?” Geordie shot back. “Honestly, we haven’t done anythin' wrong-“

“Geordie,” Sidney interrupted softly. To his relief, Geordie acquiesced, and Sidney turned his attention back to Catherine Cawood. “I’m from a village called Grantchester, and I'm here because I'm trying to find my birth family. All the information I’ve come across so far suggests my biological mother might still be here. Geordie’s come along to support me. We’re not here for nefarious purposes, I swear.”

He smiled, trying to lighten the conversation, but there was a weight in Catherine’s gaze that he couldn’t seem to shift. She stared at him, and he could have only described her expression as one of anguish. Out of the corner of his eye, Sidney noticed Geordie’s posture shifting, his annoyance receding as he sensed something was very wrong.

“Right. Right.” Catherine rubbed at her face, sighing. “How much d’yeh know ‘bout this family you’re tryin’ t’ find, then?”

Sidney shrugged. “Next to nothing, honestly.”

“I reckon,” Geordie began quietly, “that _you_ know somethin’ though, ma’am.”

Catherine’s mouth was set into a hard, thin line. She gestured to their table.

“Mind if I take a seat?”

“Please,” Sidney replied, gesturing to the booth beside Geordie. She sat down, clearing her throat in a perfunctory, determined way. She was trying to settle herself. While she took a moment to calm down, Geordie waved their beers over. The bartender advanced out from behind the bar, drinks in hand, and the rest of the pub seemed to take that as confirmation that no arrests would be made anytime soon. A low hum of conversation, which had fallen silent when Catherine entered, resumed.

“This is gonna be a shock t’yeh, Mr Chambers,” Catherine told him, gaze steady once again, “Before I tell yeh… the things that I’m about to, I want t’ be sure yer keen on havin’ this man here to listen in. It’s personal stuff. Personal as it gets.”

Sidney swallowed thickly, his throat tight. What could possibly be so bad about his family that a police officer– and a hardened one at that– would appear so frightened?

“Of course I want Geordie here, yes.”

“Well, son, I…” Catherine folded her hands on the table, looking down at her interlaced fingers as if to avoid his eyes. “…I don’t know who yer father is. But yer mother’s name is Lyn Dewhurst. She’s a cocaine addict who’s served two prison terms and is currently unemployed.”

“Je _sus_ ,” Geordie breathed.

After a brief moment of shock, a swooping, sickening feeling twisted Sidney's stomach, disappointment and sadness clutching at his gut. He wanted to ask if Catherine was certain, but knew liars well enough to be sure that she was telling the truth, and that the truth was absolute.

He felt ill.

“Well, I mean. Addicts can sometimes be alright. My sister’s an addict, and she’s the best person I know.” Catherine sighed wearily. “Look, there is… somethin’ else I need t’ say, too. There’s someone else. ‘Nother member of your biological family, livin' close-by.”

Sidney wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

But he had to.

“Who?” He asked, the word barely scraping free from his throat. This felt so surreal. Surely this wasn’t happening.

Catherine reached into her vest and produced a phone.

“Saved this picture, few months ago,” she explained as she tapped at the phone’s buttons, “so that I could warn people. Always good t’ have photographs of ex-cons on yeh, ‘specially when they’ve only just been released from prison. His name is…”

She paused, drawing a long breath. Sidney glanced fearfully at Geordie.

“…His name is Tommy Lee Royce. He went down for drug traffickin’, but… there’s great deal more he didn’ get caught for.”

She put down her phone. Slid it slowly across the sticky, wooden surface of the table. Sidney moved his beer aside to it pick up– and, immediately, his brain emptied of any coherent thought. He stared at the picture until he could make sense of it, and even then he didn’t seem to be able to.

“This is… This is a picture of me.”

“No, love,” Catherine told him sadly, “I’m afraid it isn’t.”

It was hot behind Sidney’s eyes. He couldn’t breathe properly. “I don’t- I don’t understand, I-“

The man in the picture. He had dyed hair. Blond and dark brown.

Sidney had never coloured his hair before.

Never.

Geordie gently took the phone from his fingers, and Sidney’s hand fell to the table with a quiet thud. Geordie swore loudly at what he saw.

“Are you messin’ with us?” Geordie asked incredulously, expressing the exact sentiment that Sidney couldn’t presently give voice to.

Catherine ignored Geordie. She leaned across the table towards Sidney, lightly laying her hand atop his in an expression of comfort, and perhaps even of solidarity. “Oh love, I'm so sorry. Lyn Dewhurst had twin boys,” she told him in a voice so soft and understanding that he found himself actually processing what he was hearing, “She couldn’ afford t’ keep yeh both, is my guess. She was an addict even back then, which is probably why Tommy Lee Royce turned out the way he did.”

The nausea was intensifying in Sidney’s stomach, creeping into his throat, the panic and confusion gagging him into silence. He pulled his hand away from Catherine and hid his face beneath both palms. Distantly, he heard Geordie curse, and then the scraping of wood against floorboards. A comforting weight settled on his shoulder blade, and he realised that Geordie had pulled a chair up next to him, and was patting him on the back. He tried to focus on that contact, tried to make it the centre of his attention.

“Y’alright?” Geordie asked, voice closer now.

Sidney wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t.

But Geordie had always cut through the dizziness of emotion, had always grounded him in ways that nobody else could. So Sidney nodded, and lowered his hands slowly down onto the table. Catherine was watching him, her face empathetic and full of apology.

“When you say…” Sidney forced the words out with strained reluctance, “…When you say, the way my brother ‘turned out’. What do you mean by that?”

Catherine smiled mournfully, like she’d expected him to ask, but hadn’t wanted him to. “Ordinarily I’d spare yeh the pain of knowin’. But if I do that, chances are yeh might be keen on a reunion.”

“Tell me,” Sidney insisted, hearing his own voice waver, “ _please.”_

Catherine looked into his eyes like she was searching for something. Her stare was piercing, and there was a wetness gathering along the lines of her lashes, like this conversation was hurting her as much as it was him. She wasn’t crying, but it was a near thing. Then, she opened her mouth and delivered the most damning, horrific news that Sidney could ever have imagined to encounter on his quest to find long-lost family. Such cruel, unfair words, delivered in a broken whisper.

“He’s a rapist.”

Sidney didn’t even absorb the words at first.

He sat there.

Waited for it to sink in. Waited to understand what he had just heard. But he couldn’t.

He didn’t.

Time passed. How much time, Sidney wasn’t sure, but he eventually found himself standing, all the laws of gravity swirling and collapsing as the world pulsated around him. Everything was blurred. He gave a vague, barely-formed excuse to leave, waving away Geordie’s attempts to follow him and make sure he was alright.

He emerged out into the sunlight. It was too bright. Too overwhelming. The concrete beneath his feet bent and warped, and he staggered unsteadily.

_Rapist._

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Geordie watched his friend flee from the pub. Part of him may have once attempted to conceal his worry in an attempt to remain manly and emotionally distant, but his bravado had died a long time ago when it came to Sidney Chambers.

“You’re not lyin’ to us,” he said, turning back to Catherine, “are you.”

Catherine shook her head slowly. She seemed tired. Geordie thought back to what she’d said, that terrible word, and felt an overwhelming urge to defend Sidney’s honour.

“Sidney’s _nothin_ ’ like that, y’hear? Don’t even be thinkin’ it. I don’t give a damn what some long-lost brother of his has done, Sidney’s the kindest bugger on the whole bloody planet. Puts the rest of us to shame, he really does. And this, this,” he gestured angrily at Catherine’s phone, “ _person_ might have the same face as Sidney, but-”

“Yeh don’t hafta convince me, truth be told.” Catherine interrupted him, sighing deeply. “At first I could hardly stand t’look at yer friend, but… There’s a light in his eyes. Ain’t no light in the eyes of Tommy Lee Royce. Just… deadness. Even when the sick fucker smiles.”

Geordie stared at her, disturbed. He was trying to imagine this man, trying to twist the image of Sidney’s face into something monstrous, but he couldn’t. It might have sounded trite, but he genuinely did associate Sidney’s very existence with purity, with all things good and honest and righteous; all the things Geordie had never been able to become.

“This isn’t just business, this is personal. Ain’t it? What this Tommy lad did.”

Catherine turned her gaze on Geordie. Her expression smoothed out into a blank, cold mask, and he could see the shutters closing down over whatever emotions she needed to conceal.

“Listen,” she began calmly, “Tommy Lee Royce grew up a tiny, unwanted thing, bashed about by adults all throughout his formative years. Sick bastard never learned what love is. Yer friend, Sidney, he seems like a good sort, which is all the more reason for him t' piss off outta this town as fast as he can. Tommy Lee Royce takes and takes and takes, and he gives nothin’ back. There won’t be anythin’ left of yer friend if his brother gets to him. Remember that, Mr Keating. Don’t forget it.”

With that, and nothing even resembling a goodbye, she stood up and walked away from the table.

Geordie didn’t move to stop her.

 

***

 

When Catherine emerged out front of the pub, the sky had turned a hazy grey, the sun glowing from behind ominous clouds. It would soon rain. Sidney was slumped down at one of the bar’s outside tables, his frame too large for the wooden stool he sat on. He looked up at her, and his blue eyes cut her right to the core, because she couldn’t see anything evil in that gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She frowned. “Whatever for, love?”

Sidney stood, dusting off the fronts of his trousers. Even straightened up to his full height, which was much taller than her, he wasn’t threatening. He didn’t take up space the same way Tommy Lee Royce did.

“Talking about my…” Sidney paused, still coming to terms with everything he’d just learned. “…Talking about my brother hurts you. Why that is, I don’t know, and it’s not my place to ask, but… I’m sorry. For whatever pain he caused you.”

Catherine stared at him. She wanted to laugh at how sincere he was being, how affectionate and mellow this bloke seemed to be. It was like the universe wanted to stun her into early retirement. How could Tommy Lee Royce possibly share DNA with this man?

It was at precisely that point that she realised Sidney Chambers was Ryan’s uncle. Whatever reassurances she had been about to offer him died in her throat, and she gave him a half-hearted smile before turning away and heading in the direction of her squad car. Well-spoken or not, Sidney Chambers was still a direct link to the man who had raped her daughter.

And she needed to keep that world far away from Ryan.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Geordie had a gulp of his beer like he needed the courage. He took his time for Sidney’s sake, finishing off his glass until only white suds remained, slowly and patiently fitting his coat around himself when he did finally rise to his feet. He paid the bartender with crumpled notes, got a raised eyebrow and narrowed eyes in return.

“Calm the hell down,” Geordie muttered, anticipating his inquiries, “Nobody’s done anythin’ illegal.”

The bartender gave him a grin like he appreciated the reassurance.

“Catherine’s a tough one,” he responded flatly, “Lord knows she rides us common folk hard. Not sure what she’d be wantin’ with the likes of yer friend there though. Just a tourist, are yeh?”

Geordie tapped the bar. “Have a good afternoon.”

“Watch yerself,” the bartender called after him, “this ain’t no place for holidayin’.”

“Too bloody right,” Geordie sighed.

Sidney was standing out the front of the bar, his figure silhouetted against a tumultuous sky, framed by the skewed rectangle of the bar’s front doorframe. Geordie wanted to hesitate, wanted to go back inside and have another damn long drink, but this was important. He knew that. Christ, when it came to Sidney, he’d _always_ known that. And he would always come crawling back to Sidney’s light, because that was just the kind of man the young Vicar was.

It was like magnetism.

Geordie went outside, to him. He lay his hand on Sidney’s shoulder, felt a muscle jump beneath the touch. Sidney exhaled shakily, his gaze lost and unfocussed, a tightness tugging at the skin between his brows. His shoulder was broad, firm, and warm, and Geordie wondered how someone so young could possibly have appeared so strong. A sliver of something meaningful, something quiet and full of intent, nestled beneath his ribs, and he tried not to think about all the ways he’d defend Sidney’s comfort if he had the chance. If he had the courage. All the things he would do for this young, beautiful man. He hadn’t noticed it happening, but the whole universe had slowly whittled down to the curve of Sidney’s neck, the angles of his mouth, the way his eyes looked when he was lost in thought. All Geordie's priorities could be defined by one singular existence. One single name.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Sidney’s throat moved with a tight, strained swallow, like he was holding back words, keeping them trapped below his tongue. He had his arms pressed tight against his sides, fists clenched, as if he’d fly apart and disintegrate if he didn’t hold on tightly enough. Geordie knew what that felt like. Shit, he’d never been faced with this specific set of world-altering revelations, but he knew what it was like to have your whole world disrupted, overturned, and redefined.

“Maybe I should finish my drink, Geordie-“

“While I’d normally leap at the notion, I think that might be unwise. Yer not in a good sort of way, lad. Let’s get on home to the hotel.”

Sidney looked like he wanted to argue. But instead he smiled. And, in that wonderful moment, Geordie wanted to kiss him.

Of course he didn’t.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

They had a room together. Two beds, two bedside tables, and a space between them that felt far, far too large. That night, Sidney was lying still on the other side of that chasm, unreachable and distant, the warm glow of the lamp not quite rendering his features enough for Geordie to gauge his emotions. Still, he didn’t need to see Sidney’s face to read him. To see him. The younger man had undressed promptly and listlessly, pulling off his clothes and curling up beneath layers of blankets, his adult body seeming almost childlike in the midst of his emotional distress. They hadn’t spoken very much since leaving the pub earlier. Sidney’s breaths hadn’t settled into their usual rhythm, and his unnatural silence was nagging at Geordie. If he turned off the light now then they’d just be lying in the dark, awake, not addressing the elephant in the room.

“I can hear you thinkin’ from over here.”

Geordie’s words, while spoken softly, rang clear and bold throughout the space; there was the hushed whisper of fabric as Sidney flinched, shocked by the suddenness. He craned his neck upwards to look across the room, uncurling slightly, reminding Geordie of a languid cat. His hair fell down his forehead, half his face pressed tightly against the pillow, cheek squashed by the angle at which he was lying.

“I’m fine,” he said softly, the lie simple and unadorned. It was plainly obvious he didn’t intend to make the statement convincing, as if he expected Geordie to see through it.

“Fine? Really? Y’expect me t’ believe that?”

Sidney smiled, but the expression was a sad parody of his usual exuberance. It hurt Geordie, to see Sidney like this.

“I keep thinking that I… I should call Jen. I know she…” Sidney’s voice trailed off, pain creeping into his tone, but he drew breath to continue. “I know she isn’t… a part of this. But I’d still like to tell her what I've... found out.”

“She’s a part of _you_ , Sidney,” Geordie reminded him, “that makes her a part of this. Bugger genetics. She’s yer sister. Whoever it was in that photograph, y' don’t know him. He’s not a part of you.”

It was a bold statement to make.

Possibly too bold.

Sidney sat up quickly, pushing the blankets off him. Geordie sat up too, worried.

“I think I need some air.”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“It’s _late,_ Sidney.”

“I’ll just take a quick walk.” Sidney got out of bed, wearing only a pair of grey briefs. He reached for his shirt, and Geordie was already on his feet, both hands held out in a placating gesture.

“C'mon now. You’ll get mugged, you go out tonight. Don’t be daft.”

Sidney sighed, his breath touching against Geordie’s cheek. They were standing close.

“Geordie-”

“Yer workin’ yerself into a right state, Sidney Chambers, and I will not have it. That man today was a stranger. Not connected t’ yer life whatsoever. So let it go. It’ll do you no bloody good to keep on like this. Christ, y’ don’t need some bloke and his smackhead mum in yer life. They’ve got nothin’ to do with you.”

He expected Sidney to step away from him, pull back and escape out into the chilly streets. The young Vicar was nothing if not stubborn, which was something Geordie admired, even if he found it frustrating at times. But Sidney did no such thing. He held still, eyes burning with emotions Geordie couldn’t quite read, and he even thought he saw anger there– he readied himself for a punch or a push, should Sidney react badly to the blatantly honest truth, but the fire died out. Sidney's expression collapsed into despair, posture sagging despondently, and he didn’t duck his head in time to hide the tears that sprung up into his eyes.

“I wanted…”

Those few syllables, broken and unsteady, hit Geordie like a freight train. Sidney sucked in a trembling, shuddered breath, the beginnings of a sob lingering behind his inhalation. The emotional weight of all this, of realising he was adopted and the subsequent disappointments, was taking its toll. He rubbed at his eyes, sniffing.

 _Oh sod it,_ Geordie thought.

He pulled Sidney into a hug. Immediately, Sidney’s hands flew up in surprise, hovering near Geordie’s sides in an expression of shock. Geordie tried to ignore how strange it felt to be this close to him– how _good_ it felt– and lifted one hand up onto Sidney’s neck, easing him closer. It took a long, awkward moment for Sidney to relax. He did so with a quiet huff of laughter, the rigidity of his shoulders unwinding and loosening until he was leaning into Geordie, bare thighs warm against cotton pyjama pants.

“We don’t always get what we want,” Geordie told Sidney, lips close to the shell of his ear, “but sometimes it’s for the best.”

He felt Sidney’s hands settle on his waist, large and strong and steady, and he wondered if those words doubled in meaning. Really, he didn’t need to wonder.

Of course they did.

He patted Sidney on the back and leaned away, smiling tightly and trying not to let the truth spill out onto his face. Sidney laughed, truly now, wiping at his eyes. His lashes were fine and thin as corn silk, clumped together by tears, and Geordie wished he could give comfort honestly, without the selfishness of wanting Sidney against his body. Still, a hug was a hug. And it didn’t matter how he felt. It’d never come to anything anyway.

“Don’t usually condone a man cryin’,” he joked, “but under the circumstances I’ll give you a pass.”

Sidney shook his head, smile growing into something more genuine. “Thank you, Geordie.”

 

***

 

Later, Sidney lay in the dark, hands folded on his stomach, fingers laced together. Heat hummed through his body, beneath his skin, creeping low down his abdomen. It sparked deep in his stomach. A prickling shock of anticipation, of the need to _act,_ crawled throughout him and made him shift uncomfortably, too aware of his body where he lay.

He remembered what it felt like to be embraced by Geordie. Fabric against his skin. Him, virtually naked, and Geordie clothed. There were certain conventions and regulations and expectations within his church– he knew that, and yet he couldn’t keep this truth hidden, couldn’t suppress the bubbling, blooming, boiling sweetness that erupted with Geordie’s every touch. Sidney had loved women in the past, and he didn’t think this had anything to do with not desiring female bodies. It was a separate obsession, an utterly different world of love. The love of men. Sidney had always believed that love was nothing to be ashamed of, but he knew society thought otherwise. He knew Geordie would think otherwise, if he ever found out.

Sidney exhaled in the quiet, tried to keep the sound subtle. Perhaps Geordie would assume he was crying. He wanted to touch himself, wanted to answer this need the only way he knew how, but he couldn’t. Not with Geordie so close. Not since Geordie had touched him, comforting words low and throaty and full of promise.

_We don’t always get what we want. But sometimes it’s for the best._

Sidney stared into the darkness.

He listened to Geordie softly snoring.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, these two. I love them so much. Anyway– let me know what you think so far! Eager to hear from you readers out there~


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning Geordie roused Sidney, chucking a pillow at his head and demanding he get up. They went to a cafe next to the hotel, Sidney still half-asleep, eyelids heavy and his hair messy. Geordie ordered coffee and a decent portion of food for them both. They’d likely move onto tea after they’d finished eating, but he figured there were certain mornings when a boiling hit of pure caffeine was in order. And this, no doubt, was one of those mornings.

He could read Sidney better than anybody else, better than all the suspects in the world, better than his children or his ex-wife or the numerous women he’d had affairs with before his marriage ended. Sidney was like a well-thumbed book; somebody Geordie would never get sick of. Somebody he found comfort in, just like those cheesy pulp romance novels that Sidney, much to Geordie’s amusement, kept hidden under his mattress. So he knew that Sidney wanted to sit in silence. But he also knew that the last thing Sidney _really_ needed was to get what he wanted.

So he let Sidney tuck in, dejectedly chewing at eggs and bacon and roasted tomato, and was content to read his newspaper until Sidney’s morose expression became too frustrating to ignore.

“Shall we take the train out today?”

“…I suppose so,” Sidney replied flatly, gazing miserably at his plate, “Probably for the best.”

Geordie nodded, straightening out his newspaper. “Mm.”

They sat there for a little while longer. Geordie had never been a very patient man, but he could sense that Sidney was itching to speak, and sulking would only satisfy for so long. So he waited, peeking over the top of his newspaper as Sidney ate, the other man visibly becoming more and more restless. Eventually Sidney pushed his plate away, food only half eaten, taking up his mug of coffee and sighing into its brim.

“Out with it,” Geordie told him.

Sidney took a sip of his coffee, blowing at the hot liquid, and then put the cup down.

“…Do you think… it was somebody she knew?”

Geordie frowned. “What?”

“The policewoman. She said that my brother, he…”

Sidney looked away. His jaw pulsed with a clench of muscle, and Geordie put down his newspaper, folding it into a neat rectangle so that he could look away and give Sidney a moment of privacy.

“She said that my brother,” Sidney’s voice dropped into a scratchy murmur, “ _attacked_ somebody. The way that she was acting was almost frightened. Geordie, I… I think-“

“It does yeh no good t' theorise.”

Sidney’s eyes looked icy blue today, light slanting through the cafe windows and flashing in his irises, only serving to amplify the fear in his face. Geordie met his gaze and managed to keep his expression calm, but it was a damn near thing. He couldn’t handle seeing Sidney so torn. It wasn’t fair. The man had never wronged anybody in his whole goddamn life.

“You’re a policeman, Geordie. You can read people better than I can. Don’t pretend you haven’t drawn the same conclusion. She wasn’t just shaken by the crimes she was describing, she was _scared,”_ Sidney leaned forward, whispering, “of _me.”_

Geordie leaned towards him too, folding his arms on the table. Sidney wasn’t wrong, but Geordie wasn’t going to admit that aloud. It wouldn’t help matters.

“Stop thinkin' about it.”

“I _can’t.”_ Sidney protested. “Would you be able to? If you were in my position?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yes, it is.”

Geordie stared at him. Sidney held his gaze for a while, but eventually relented, looking away.

“Sidney,” Geordie began sternly, “ _you_ are the most irritatingly virtuous person I know. Genuinely so, which makes it even more bloody annoyin’.”

Sidney scoffed dismissively at that.

“That woman could see you weren’t him,” Geordie insisted quietly, “Yer not _like him.”_

Sidney looked disturbed. “I know that.”

“Do you? Do you really? Because you’re spoutin’ some guilty-soundin’ nonsense about the actions of a total stranger having _anythin’_ t' do with you. Yer no more responsible for what that man did than _I_ am, for God’s sake. So stop wringin’ yer hands over this. There’s nothin’ you can do t' change the past actions of another person, ‘specially someone you’ve never even _met_ before.”

Sidney shot him a half-hearted look, but the anger in his expression was crumpling, so easily discarded when given the alternative of an easier route. The young Vicar had never been a fighter. He’d joined the Army at nineteen years of age, and been honourably discharged two years later with a ten-inch knife wound in his back and a collection of painkiller cocktails– but where scars would never heal, his heart was untouched. He was too good, Sidney Chambers. Too honest and pure. Geordie had always seen kind-heartedness as a flaw, as a weakness, and he supposed he still did; but no part of him wanted Sidney to change. He figured he could protect that innocence, protect Sidney himself, from the world.

For as long as he could.

“I think y' should take that walk now.” Geordie told him softly. He nodded towards the exit. “Go on. I’ll be waitin’ back at the hotel when yer good and ready.”

 

***

 

Sidney stepped out onto the street.

He inhaled the chilly, midmorning air, shivering a little at the sensation. But a blush was making its way up his neck, heat warming the tips of his ears, and despite everything he found himself smiling. Geordie looked at him differently sometimes, now that they were closer. Now that they had an understanding between them. A quiet, tender friendship that allowed Sidney to breathe again in ways he dared not admit. It wasn’t all he wanted, but still.

It was more than enough.

He slid his hands into his pockets and set off at a steady pace.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The neighbourhood was peaceful around Sidney, nobody out mowing their lawn or chasing their kids around the front yard. Sidney thought it looked picturesque, despite the ramshackle disarray of most of the houses and the bland greyness of the concrete apartments. It wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as Grantchester, but he enjoyed the quiet.

It wasn’t quiet for long.

The piercing squeal of faulty brakes rushed up to him like a scream. He didn’t even have time to start running.

A weight collided with his back, the force of impact sending him down onto the ground faster than he could process, grass and dewy dirt slamming into his face so hard that the world blinked out into nothingness for at least a second. By the time he regained awareness there was something pressed against his face, covering his mouth and nose, fingers biting into his cheeks. He struggled, trying to get his shoulders up off the ground, but there was a body on top of him, knees braced either side of his waist to pin him in place. He wondered whether he was being mugged.

Soon after that he was unconscious.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Something was wrong.

That was the thought hypnotically circling Sidney’s addled mind when he awoke, possessing the entirety of his barely-coherent existence. Something was on fire. Creeping beneath his skin like ice, like poison, like a disease he couldn’t shake. The burn corroded his brain, reaching deep like nothing else ever had, bits of his consciousness floating free in his skull, everything grey and searing and charred. He tried to speak, and found his lips too numb to respond. A helpless sound, the whine of a dying pup, threaded itself pathetically through the air, and he felt frozen sweat against his skin. The air pounded. The ground shook. Tears poured from his eyes, and he could not feel them.

Then he was gone again.

 

***

 

The next time he crawled back into semi-consciousness, he was more aware of his surroundings. This, while a relief in some respects, really was not a fucking godsend of a situation. Sidney realised he was sitting down, first, and then became aware of the pulling sensation across his chest, thick sections rope cutting into the bared meat of his ribcage, his sternum rubbed raw by the rough fibres. His arms, next, and the ache that hummed through them, more painful than could be believed. He had been undressed down to his underwear, and the air was icy against him, shivers pummelling through his body with enough force to make the wooden chair creak. He tried to move his arms, found his wrists strung tightly down to the arms of the chair, fingers turned purple by the pressure of rope denting flesh. His wrists– they were chafed, severely so, blood smeared about from his unconscious thrashing. Drugs, still fading from his body, had left their mark. He would have scars. If he ever escaped. The thought startled him, and panic began to set in. His breathing became faster, shallower, and with it the increasing awareness of the tightening ropes across his torso, and the fabric gag tied suffocatingly tight across his face, cutting into the corners of his mouth, choking him, _suffocating_ him-

Sidney’s frantic gasps filled the space, and then they were silenced. In an instant.

He had noticed the man.

Pure terror, the kind no person should have to experience, gripped him like nothing else ever had. His brain nearly fucking ate itself from the fear. In that moment, he was absolutely insane with horror. There was a man standing in front of him. Sidney could not move. There was a man standing in front of him. There was a person, a human fucking person, _someone had kidnapped him and they were standing right fucking in front of him-_

He tried to breathe. He tried to calm himself.

Didn’t fucking work, but after a while, the man hadn’t moved, and Sidney wasn’t even entirely sure he was there at all. There was no escape, and in the white-hot surreality of this nightmare, some kind of hopeless decision was made; a senseless calm, a trauma-induced blankness, overcame him. And he started to look around, eyes flitting about the room, and occasionally back toward the phantom figure.

It was dark.

There were walls on either side of him. Exposed brick, with lumpy mortar exposed by crappy craftsmanship, obviously aged and in need of repair. His gaze, drugged senseless by fear, fixated needlessly on scratches dented into the bricks, as if looking away might make everything else disappear. He eventually looked around enough to note the line of light, broken by the imposing silhouette of the man he wasn’t quite sure actually existed. It appeared to be sunlight peeking from beneath a wide doorway of some kind. A garage door, perhaps? He couldn’t tell. He inhaled sharply, air hissing past the damp gag in his mouth. The air smelled of petrol, tobacco, and dust. Musty air. Wherever he was, it hadn’t been frequented for a very long time. The floor was bare concrete. The bottoms of his feet were no longer tingling from the cold, they were devoid of sensation altogether. He tried to flex his fingers and couldn't.

He was beginning to calm down, starting to come to terms with this insanity, wondering how he might sort this out and get back to Geordie, when-

The man had moved.

Sidney’s heart nearly stopped.

The shadow man had moved, he was closer, Sidney was fucking sure of it, the man had _moved closer,_ and was wearing a black ski mask and holding a slowly-smouldering cigarette between two fingers, he was real, _he was real and Sidney was going fucking crazy-_

A hand moved, white in the darkness of this place. The orange tip of the cigarette sliced through the air like an omen, glowing brighter as lips closed around the paper cylinder, inhaling patiently. Sidney was trembling. He could feel it, hear the chair creaking in tandem with every shuddering gasp for air. It was becoming so loud now, a whirlwind of noise, and he couldn’t hear over his own panic. Eyes fixed on him, steady and cold as a killer’s, dark and emotionless, framed by black fabric.

The hand lowered. A trail of grey through the air as the cigarette moved. A cloud of smoke, then, blown directly at Sidney’s face. Eyes moved as the man, the _thing,_ tipped his head to the side.

Boredom.

Sidney saw boredom in those eyes, and could not comprehend it.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, i'm still alive! will be continuing this, finally. buckle in for a wild ride.

Catherine was hunched over her desk, glaring pensively at the paperwork before her. There was no power on heaven nor earth that could possibly save her from the tyranny of shuffling crap across her desk, with depressing regularity throughout every fucking week. The most horrific crimes and experiences, reduced to this. To a double-sided page with itemised sub-headings. She dropped her pen, blinking deliberately as it made a plastic _tap_ against the surface of her table. She grabbed her coffee, tipping her head back to take a sizeable gulp, wincing as the early-morning sunlight made itself known. Stress and sleep deprivation, this was. She needed a good kick up the arse, a proper case to hold her attention, and then she’d be fine.

Familiar footsteps approached Catherine’s office. Without looking up, she said, “Talk to me, Joyce.”

“Got a fella up front, says he wants to speak t’ yeh.”

“Any reason?”

Joyce shrugged from her vantage point in Catherine’s doorway. “Seems t’ be in distress. Says a friend’s gone missin’.”

Catherine rose from her seat with a laboured sigh, rubbing at her eyes. “A’ight, cheers.”

She made her way out through the station, hailed by various greetings and jokes from her coworkers, all of which she responded to with an easy grin. She prepared herself for whatever situation awaited her at the front desk, but wasn’t too worried. After all this time, Joyce had a good knack for police work, and was generally very capable of reading peoples’ state of mind. Most civilians were not calm customers, and Joyce was always kind enough to pass on a quiet word if she thought there was real trouble.

The man waiting behind the thick, faintly scratched police glass was short, with a slender face and a weathered expression, a worried frown tugging at the corners of his eyes and tightening the edges of his mouth. The moment Catherine laid eyes on him, her heart sunk, stomach roiling with certainty of what had surely happened. Time seemed to pause, Catherine's steps slowing to a crawl, a breath catching in her throat. Tommy Lee Royce’s face flashed in her mind for a moment, then faded to Sidney Chambers' cheery complexion, to the innocent smile that had haunted her so. She thought of her daughter. She thought of inevitability. And then she moved on, because that was her job.

And she was fucking good at it.

“Detective Keating,” she greeted him, voice level, “What’s happened, then?”

Geordie swallowed, and the action looked painful. The hollow of his throat tightened, and his mouth trembled slightly. She recognised what this was, and saw the kinship of this moment. He was pretending just as hard, and just as well, as her.

“It’s… It’s Sidney.”

His words were quiet and terrified, his friend’s name scraping free from his throat like a prayer. Catherine nodded.

“Right. Come ‘round the back. Tell me everythin’.”

 

***

 

They sat in an interview room, an untouched cup of tea sitting before Geordie’s clenched hands. It was rapidly turning cold. He was holding himself together brilliantly, all things considered; Catherine knew how awful it felt to be on the wrong side of this table, how jarring it was to be a copper and not be the one in control.

“Went for a walk, ‘bout ten in the mornin’ yesterday. Didn’t come back.”

Catherine’s pen moved swiftly across her notepad. “And y' went lookin’?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Was lookin’ all day yesterday. I told myself, if he didn’t come back by this mornin’, I’d… I’d come here. Thought he just needed some time, needed a couple hours to think things through, but...”

"He the kind to take a long walk? Normally-like?"

"No. Bike rides, is all. Not a whole day, though, I..." Geordie inhaled sharply, well on the path to hyperventilation, "I shouldn't have let him go alone, I..."

“When yeh went lookin’, y' didn’t find anythin’?”

Geordie shook his head. The silence of the interview room was deafening, and the overhead lights threw Geordie’s face into dramatic shadow. He shifted in his seat, a hand over his mouth, closing his eyes briefly. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

"Okay," Catherine said softly, tone dipping into a gentle murmur.

"It's been," Geordie's voice was muffled by his palm, but there was no mistaking his panic, "It's been twenty-four hours."

She put the cap on her pen. "It has, yes."

"It's the brother, innit? The brother's taken him. That _twin_ , that goddamn psychopath of a-"

"We're not gonna assume that." Catherine closed her notepad. "Now, I get the sense from just lookin' at yeh that yer a good and capable policeman, just like myself, which means I don't hafta explain the way this goes. Calm and logical is how we proceed, right? All things considered, Mr Chambers could very well turn up this afternoon after spendin' the night at someone's place just 'cause he got lost. Doubtful, but it could be true. So y' gotta let me do the work here, 'kay? Yer too close to this."

Geordie met her gaze, the terror in his face barely concealed by stern countenance. His eyes were wet, and his breaths were coming too fast.

"I can't lose him," he whispered.

Catherine nodded. Then, she did something stupid, something she had long ago sworn off doing because it was the holy grail of bad ideas.

"You won't. I promise."

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Tommy Lee Royce sat smoking in the dark.

The telly was on, some trite program he wasn’t paying attention to. The springs of the couch he was sitting on were denting the underside of his thighs, but he didn’t care enough to move. The stained, slightly soggy carpet underneath his boots was musty and distasteful, but Tommy hadn’t even noticed. His body was a vessel, more than anything else. He stayed fit, and liked to fuck, but beyond that he was just a slab of meat possessing consciousness. He didn’t like to think too deeply about shit, didn’t ask himself any of the big questions; more than that, he was incapable of doing so. Trauma and conditioning had moulded him into a bored, apathetic, insatiable sociopath. He liked violence. He couldn’t empathise with anybody. He looked upon himself with a cold, superior sense of pride, arrogantly catching sight of his own reflection in the midst of brutal fistfights. There was a distance between him and the rest of the world that, contrary to the efforts of his prison psychiatrist, would never be surmounted.

Tommy inclined his head towards the ceiling. He’d heard a bang from downstairs.

He lowered his hand, calmly and patiently, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he put his cigarette out on the arm of the couch. Burning the leather, breathing the stink in. This wasn’t his place, and Ashley was too much of a pussy to successfully call him out on any destruction of property. Besides, the dumb fucker was running a dope business out of this rundown shack. He wouldn’t risk pissing off the one employee who had direct hands on his stash and knowledge of all the distribution chains.

Tommy stood up. He drank the last of his beer, crushed the can in one hand, and dropped it uncaringly on the floor. It clattered loudly. He retrieved the black ski mask he’d purchased for this exact purpose, pulled it over his face, and went to investigate.

The door to the basement was weathered and thick, able to withstand a great deal of abuse before it would crack. Good thing too. Tommy undid the huge lock, swung it open, and immediate saw the source of the noise. Sidney Chambers was curled on his side, still bound to the chair, which had also tipped over. Seemed he’d been trying to escape, which was a laughable thought.

Vibrant yellow light, as Tommy opened the door wider, spilled out into the room, slanting across Sidney’s face. Curls of hair, streaked through with blood, were plastered over his forehead, sticky with sweat. Blue eyes, wide and full of tears, flashed up to meet Tommy’s gaze. He was breathing hard, wheezing for air, the binding across his torso choking him where he lay at an awkward angle. The pleas he couldn’t vocalise were evident, despite how muffled his voice was. He looked so small.

Tommy leaned against a wall.

He thought about child protection services, the counsellors that had sat him down and spoken to him with patronising voices, showing him pictures of kittens and puppies and asking him what he thought of them. He had lied, of course. He’d said that he found them cute, found them endearing, that he’d never ever hurt something so innocent. They’d seen through him, of course, but they weren’t paid enough to pursue the mental health of a boy who wasn’t yet exhibiting violent behaviour. They’d never found the birds beneath his bed, tiny bodies twisted and mutilated by the blade of a knife he’d stolen from one of his mother’s boyfriends. Their lifeless beady eyes, beaks hanging open slightly, their feathers so fine and delicate, all that innocence and fragility totally snuffed out… Remembering them now, Tommy was driven to compare them to Sidney Chambers. Such puny hearts, beating so hard, thrumming right up until they stopped.

Tommy tilted his head sidewards, considering the person before him. The restraints were an extra measure, more than anything else, because he'd given Sidney enough Secobarbital and Amobarbital to choke a horse. Sidney's eyes had become unfocussed, a drop of sweat rolling down his forehead and past the bridge of his nose.

He was whimpering.

Tommy stepped forward, grabbed the arm of the chair. He hoisted Sidney and the chair up in one fluid gesture, yanking him up off the concrete. Blood was smeared and dotted where Sidney's skull had hit the concrete, and his head swivelled unsteadily on his neck as Tommy righted the seat. He checked the restraints, testing the ropes, and then placed his palms atop Sidney's ruined wrists, gripping hard. He leaned down, turning his fabric-covered mouth into the side of Sidney's trembling face.

"Give me any more trouble, I'll cut yer cock off and shove it up yer arse."

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

_Hey everyone,_

_This story was initially really fun to write, but unfortunately I'm finding it too dark to continue writing. I keep trying, but the plot just won't come organically. I've written a lot of crime and psychological drama in the past, but can't seem to enjoy it any more. I might write another Sidney/Geordie story, but it'll likely be much more positive and wholesome... Thanks for all your support thus far. I might continue this someday._

 

_Cheers,_

_Jake._


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